Unfinished Thought
by Kuro no Kaze
Summary: Michiru started a painting a few days after Kiseki was born but never finished it. Oneshot. Revised.


**Disclaimer: Sailor Moon and any characters thereof do NOT belong to me. They belong to Takeuchi, Nao and I am only borrowing them. Only Kiseki belongs to me. Ane means older sister.**

**Kiseki's POV**

I sigh as I walk through the front door of my home. I'm going to be the only person in the house tonight; not something I'm looking forward to at all. My parents are at some charity concert, my mom being the guest of honor or something. As proud as I am to have two famous parents, sometimes it just down right sucks.

Our house isn't necessarily huge, but it is pretty big; two floors with five bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, and a basement that anyone can be jealous of. Sectioned off into four rooms (one for each of my parents, one for me, and a common room), it's rarely seen by anyone but family and my parents' friends. My favorite feature of our house though has to be the backyard. Plenty of grass to run around on, sure, but that's not the best part. Our house sits right off the ocean. It's like having your own slice of heaven and not having to share it with anyone.

Anyway, back to my little story. Just returning from football (soccer) practice at school, I leave my backpack and duffel bag by the front door and head straight up the stairs to my bedroom. I need a shower immediately. I love to run and exercise but I absolutely hate that grimy feeling of being covered in grass stains and dirt. We have the best record in our division and we've been invited to play at the Japanese National Tournament in a month so we're training harder than ever. This means that we're getting dirtier than ever. Grabbing a pair of shorts and a tank top, I move from my room and across the hall to the master bathroom. This is the only good part about being home alone; I can relax in my parents' hot tub. After washing all of the dirt and mud from my body, I get the tub prepared and slide in, loving how it feels. I swear if I wasn't hungry, I could fall asleep in this thing. Unfortunately, hunger does settle in but I decide to ignore it for a little while. Half an hour later, my grumbling stomach is all I can think about. Pulling myself from the tub, I dry off quickly and dress. I make sure to turn off the hot tub before I head back downstairs, throwing my dirty clothes near the entrance to the laundry room. "I'll get them later," I mumble as I walk into the kitchen. I open one of the many cabinets and pull out a glass. As I set the glass on the counter, something near the back door catches my eye. I turn my head to see what it is.

An easel? Out of the closet? This confuses me. "Mom must have been in a hurry or something," I think. She never leaves her easels out, finished or not. Forgetting about my cup, I go over to the easel and turn it around. It's not finished. It's barely even started. All that's on the white canvas is the black and white drawing of two people, one of who looks a lot like my dad. "If that's daddy, then that must either be me or my ane," I say out loud, referring to the baby that my dad is holding. I admire the sketch for a few more minutes and an idea hits me. I can finish this for mom's birthday! She won't mind me using it. At least, I hope she won't. "All it really needs is a background and some color. That's simple," I conclude. But just what kind of background would go with the positioning of the already-drawn figures? I contemplate the photo in front of me, envisioning a few possibilities. Realizing that I'm not the artist that my mother is, I decide to stick with the one setting I can do well; the ocean view from the back porch. I had no way of knowing that this was the same idea my mother had when she started the painting.

I pick up the easel and set it aside for the time-being after I was reminded of my hunger by my noisy stomach. Opting for something fast and easy, I simply pull a frozen dinner from the freezer and toss it in the microwave. As it heats up, I go into the closet for my mom's paint supplies. I can easily replace whatever I use, I had no worries. I set the brushes, tools, and things down on the counter as the microwave indicates that my dinner is finished. I open the microwave door and immediately grab the food, stupidly forgetting that it would be hot. Chalk that one up as being a blonde moment. "Kuso!" I scream as I let go of the burning container. I shake my hand frantically, over exaggerating how much it hurt. Moving to the sink, I turn on the cold water and let it run over my sore hand. It's not too bad. After a few minutes of "healing," I go back to the microwave and scoff. "I'm not doing that again," I mutter. I pull a plate from a different cabinet and pull the container from the microwave by the plastic covering that isn't hot. I carefully remove the cover and allow my food to cool down. As it cools, I go back to the counter and retrieve my cup, filling it with orange juice from the refrigerator. Before I sit down to eat, I open the utensil drawer and pull out my chopsticks. I don't necessarily hate the idea of using a fork. It's just that I'm more efficient with my chopsticks. Eating slowly and carefully, I satisfy my stomach's complaints. Feeling better, I throw away the empty food container, place the plate in the dishwasher and my chopsticks in the trash. I pick up my half-full glass of orange juice and look at the easel. I begin to wonder about the true identity of the "mystery child" my mom had started painting.

I have an idea. Setting my glass on the table and heading into the living room, I sit on the couch and pick up the telephone. Dialing my ane's cell phone number, I wait for her to answer. When her voice comes, I perk up. I ask her if she knows anything about the painting and she does. She confirms that the child is me and that my mom started it when I was only 4 or 5 days old. That's a long time considering I'm 17 now. She apologizes that she can't talk longer but she was on her way to class. She promises to come visit the next day and this makes me happy. She tells me that she loves me and then we hang up. So I'm the little tyke in the forgotten painting. That's ok. It won't be forgotten for long.

Going through the kitchen, I open the back door and bring the easel outside. Going back into the house, I grab my beverage, the brushes, and everything else I could grab and bring it all with me to the back porch. I set the easel up so that I can get a good idea of exactly how I'm going to paint the background. This only takes a few minutes as almost any view of the ocean is perfect for the painting. I nod my approval and get to work, starting with a few light outlines of clouds. I become so engrossed in my progress that I never hear the phone ring inside. It took me a little longer than usual to finish an ocean background but I figured that was because I wanted it to look perfect for my mom's birthday. Once I had figured out where everything needed to be, it was time to add color. A few different shades of blue were all I really needed and that's easy to achieve with the right combination of blue and white paint. I leave the coloring of my dad and me for last. I didn't want the colors to clash with the sky or the sea. I decide that since a majority of the picture was some shade of blue, I had to deter myself from using that same color. I shrug. Simple enough. I use flesh tone for our skin, and a light green for the clothes that I'm wearing. Then was the tricky part; what was I going to use for my dad's clothes? I couldn't use blue. I didn't want to use green. Remembering one of my dad's favorite outfits, I use black for her pants and red for her shirt. I finish by using a mixture of brown and yellow for her hair that matches perfectly with the real thing.

I smile at the finished work. This is something my parents would be proud of, especially my mother. It turned out to be the best ocean landscape I have ever done. I pick up the easel cautiously and carry it back into the house to dry. I see the answering machine blinking and wonder when I missed a call. I press the playback button and listen to my mother as she explains that they are going to be late coming home and that they love me. This is something I have come to expect from my parents but I'm not mad at them for it. On the contrary, I'm quite proud of them.

I sigh happily and look at the clock on the wall. Half past eight and nothing to do. I return to the back door and make sure it's locked. Then I do the same for the front. Looking down at my duffel bag, I remember that I have laundry to do. Deciding that it's better than doing nothing, I retrieve my uniform and my cleats from my duffel and head to the laundry room, gathering my other clothes along the way. I separate the darks from the lights and start a load. I head back to the living room and turn on the television as I wait for the first load to get done. I flip through multiple channels before finally stopping on the news just in time to catch tomorrow's weather forecast. Sunny and warm with light clouds but no chance of rain. Perfect weather for a Saturday team scrimmage. My teammates won't disagree; they like to play almost as much as me so everyone will show up for an extra day of training. Once the weather is finished, I go back to channel surfing. How is it possible to have 500 channels and there's not a blasted thing on to watch? I laugh at the question. One of the many mysteries of the world. I somehow managed to flip through the channels enough times to go through an entire load of laundry. I got up and went back to the laundry room, throwing the clothes from the washer into the drier and starting another load. I don't have to put this load in the drier. My dad would do that when my parents got home, regardless of what time it is.

Keeping this in mind, I returned, again, to the living room and looked through our movie collection. We have all of my football games on tape and I needed to review a few things for our lineup for Nationals. When it comes to the team, in addition to being a team member, I'm the captain and an assistant coach of sorts. Pulling one out of the video tower, I put it in the VCR and flopped onto the couch. I watched as our plays happened and tried to see if anyone was out of position or if anyone would do better in another spot. As I was reviewing my team, I started to doze off.

At about three o'clock in the morning, my parents came home but I never woke up. They came in the house as quietly as possible, not sure of where I was sleeping. They both smiled at me as my dad closed the front door. My mom came over to where I was lying down, bent over, and kissed my cheek. She turned to my dad and told her to get me a blanket. My dad chuckled and went upstairs slowly so she wouldn't make any noise. She returned a few moments later and covered me with the blanket. She ran her hand over my head lightly. I might be 17 years old, but I was still a child. I'm not ashamed of the way my parents treat me. I think it makes me who I am. Anyway, not the point.

My mom made her way into the kitchen and gasped loudly. As usual, my dad heard her and rushed to her side. Nothing was said as my dad seen what my mom was staring at. "She…she…she fin…," my mom stuttered. Tears welled up in her eyes as she observed my work. My dad put her arm around my mom's shoulders as she smiled.

Neither of them had noticed that I had gotten up. I came up in between them and chuckled. "I completed an unfinished thought."

**AN: Companion fic to "The Next Generation." Realized I never had Michiru finish her painting. Well, it's finished. Just not by the person who started it. Hope you enjoyed it. Please review. **


End file.
